


Woods were Waning

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Feeding the sheep is prohibited [8]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:59:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9058684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: Melkor finds a sweet, innocent little creature to take in.  Sweet and innocent is really just on the surface, barely, as chaos breaks loose over a very short time, and Melkor leaves Mairon to clean up the mess left behind.  (Really, Melkor just can’t admit he was wrong all along.) Part of the Feeding the Sheep is Prohibited universe.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naamah_Beherit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naamah_Beherit/gifts).



> I am blaming this craziness on **Naamah_Beherit** (mostly), since this was her idea after a conversation we had yesterday afternoon about a real cat.
> 
> Enjoy, and happy holidays to everyone who celebrates this time of year!

“What - what is this?”

The rest of Mairon’s question died in his mouth as he sat up in his chair and stared at the fluffy black and white creature in Melkor’s outstretched hands.  It was, without a doubt, a cat.  A very unhappy cat, judging from its glowering expression.  Melkor was grasping it under its front legs, and its long body was stretching limply down toward the floor.  The tail twitched once, then again, in abject agitation, but no sound came from the animal.

“I found it,” Melkor declared.  Not quite _proudly_ , but he was not usually one to bring home companions for himself.  The small dogs he brought up to the cottage for Mairon turned into part of the growing herd, and they soon forgot Melkor’s existence at all.  Which, it seemed, chafed him, if this action was any indication.  

“A she, I think,” he muttered after a moment as though Mairon had asked, holding the cat higher.  Her golden eyes narrowed and her ears flattened to her head, but still no noise came out.  “And your eyes are the same color, look.  I couldn’t leave her, Mairon, it was about to rain.”

The cat raised a back leg, curling herself until she could brace her back paw against Melkor’s arm.  Her claws dug into the fabric of his sleeve for traction in her upward climb.  She did not appear at all pleased to have been taken from wherever she had been before, but Melkor ignored her movements and pulled her toward him.  The twitching in her tail eased somewhat.

“I do not like cats, you know,” Mairon started to say, watching her warily.  But her ears were starting to perk as she crawled up Melkor’s chest rather than his arm, and he sighed.  “Just keep her away from my things.”

Melkor turned, plucking the cat from his shoulder and holding her out again like someone who knew very little about what he was doing (which was certainly the truth when it came to felines of any sort).  She immediately went limp, stretching once again toward the floor as he held her under her front legs.  “Come along, Fluffer, we should find you a place to sleep.”

Mairon dropped his head over the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling, reminded of why Melkor had not named anything at all over the last several centuries and thankful Fluffer was not his animal to be responsible for.

A sudden crash from the next room and a loud curse should have been their first warning.

Several days later, Mairon was woken sometime in the night by Melkor thundering into the scullery, calling for him.  There was a note of trouble to his voice, and Mairon slid from the bed and padded down the hall without pausing for his slippers, past the kitchen and into the smaller room beside it.  Melkor had the cat in his arms, her small body bloody and hurt, and not-quite-panic on his face.

Mairon took his elbow and led him to place the cat on the counter, where he conjured a fire to hover over them so he could see.  She was still, but her eyes were open and aware, glaring at him as he touched her wet, bloody fur.  A low growl rumbled in her throat as he found the extent of her injuries.

“I heard something in the woods on my way to bed,” Melkor explained in a rush, peering over Mairon’s shoulder as he used magic and spells to put the cat together again without much issue, something Melkor himself could easily have done without disturbing Mairon from slumber.  “Those coyotes you noticed, one of them attacked,” he added, lips pinching into a line.

“We can go find the beast tomorrow,” Mairon said softly, with the _and kill it then_ unspoken in his words.

Melkor paused with his response, and Mairon glanced at him quickly before looking back at the cat, who was quieting - if barely - under his calming touch.  The Vala shifted from one foot to the other before saying, “She may have maimed it herself.  Or killed it completely, I wasn’t quite sure, I was in too much of a hurry to come back here to you.”

Mairon just grunted his disgruntled response.  The cat’s tail twitched and, after only another few seconds, she felt healed quite enough, _thank you_ , and slithered away from him to jump off the table, leaving unnecessarily bloody footprints in her wake.

It was only a week later that Mairon decided he could not handle the cat any longer.

Normal cat-like behavior, such as bringing small dead rodents inside - this he could handle.  Melkor had even encouraged such things at first, with pleased cries about how his little pet was a natural killer and simply meant to be his.  It was somewhat endearing on Melkor’s part, Mairon had to admit, and the first few times he did grin _a little_ even as he cleaned the bodies of rats and birds and squirrels from the kitchen.  And then the living room, and then the bedroom with increasing grumbles.

But small rodents turned into rabbits - many rabbits - and a rather large turtle that she had somehow mauled through its shell to leave as a threatening surprise for Mairon as he left his forge.  At one point he found a leg he swore was from a goat (even if he wasn’t sure goats lived on their mountain).

This, he showed to Melkor with a brief word of warning, saying in passing that he wasn’t very fond of his new cat, and perhaps they should consider the possibility that they really did have a menace in their midst.

Melkor, of course, did not take to such an idea.

Fluffer, however, began to hide under beds and chairs, behind doors or curtains, and every time Mairon passed she swatted his ankles with an angry hiss.  The hems of his robes became a tattered mess as she latched herself to them, spitting and growling, in an effort to find his calf with her nails, and Mairon spun around trying to get her off without damage to himself or to the cat.  Or, most of all, his clothing.

Somehow Melkor missed every one of these incidents.  That, or Fluffer timed them until he was gone.  Mairon would not put it beyond her capabilities.  Still, though, he was willing to cope with the little beast until she died, since her life would come to an end so very quickly compared to his superior immortal lifetime - and really, he told himself, she was just a nuisance.  She couldn’t truly hurt him the way she obviously thought she could, not like her rabbits and goats.  Or the coyote.

It wasn’t until a windy afternoon at the end of this trying week and after the unspeakable loss of his favorite velvet robe that his resolve cracked.

Mairon hammered away at a piece of metal in his forge, not fully paying attention to his work.  He was distracted, he knew he was, but the beat of the hammer was soothing, the scent of warm metal and fire calming to his soul, and he continued to hide away where he was.

A sudden scuffle and a beleaguered howl from the side yard caught his attention through the haze of his unfocused mind, and he glanced up.  Sounds of a fight were still coming from outside, and he set the hammer down on his anvil and hurried through the arched doorway.  Draugluin was running through the grass, shaking himself and throwing his head back with barking yelps, and Mairon caught sight of a black and white ball of fluff wrapping itself around his neck and shoulders.  All hackles were raised on both animals.

He sprinted into the yard before Draugluin could drop to the ground and start rolling in an attempt to get the ball of teeth and claws off.  A sure way to actually kill the cat, and while _he_ would not mind terribly much, Melkor might be a tad upset.  Melkor who, again, was nowhere in sight, leaving this to Mairon to fix.

And so fix it Mairon would.

“Come here, you damnable creature,” Mairon muttered, grunting as he allowed his arms to become the focus of the cat’s attack instead of the wolf’s neck while he found her scruff.  He hefted her up and, rather than go limp the way she did for Melkor, she twisted and writhed until Mairon grabbed under her belly as well so she wouldn’t hurt herself.  

“We’re done with this, Fluffer,” he said, marching back to the forge with Draugluin at his heels, his own trot rather subdued.  “You’re leaving now.”

She began to hiss as they entered the small building, nearing the heat of the fire.  But all Mairon did was drop her into a slatted crate recently emptied of materials, closing the lid and placing a large hammer on top so she wouldn’t be able to wriggle out.  He turned, scanning quickly for a bit of chalk, and swooped to pick it up before clearing a space large enough for the crate at an unused workbench.

“Stand back, Draugluin,” he murmured, and the wolf moved to the other side of the forge to watch from there.  Mairon quickly began to sketch out patterns and marks on the stone surface, encasing them in a circle.  He paused for a moment to make sure he was remembering this particular bit of ancient magic correctly, and that Fluffer would arrive alive and unharmed.  And, hopefully, without trace of where she had arrived _from_.

All seemed in order.

He swept back to the crate, sealed it quickly with a small bit of magic - just enough to keep it closed for the journey - and set the entire thing, crate and cat, in the center of the chalk circle on his workdesk.  Fluffer hissed and growled angrily, reaching her paw with claws outstretched through the slats with every intention to draw as much blood from his as possible.  She had some success as Mairon said the last few words of the spell, and then she was gone, crate and all.

He brushed his hands off on his leather apron, sighing with annoyance when the gesture did indeed leave streaks of blood behind.  The scratches started to sting, and he put his knuckles to his mouth, mumbling healing to the various battle wounds.

“Come on, Draugluin,” he grumbled, patting his thigh with his other hand.  The wolf came to his side without hesitation.  “Let’s go lie down.  I think we both deserve a rest after waging such terrible war.”

The cottage was quiet when he entered, Draugluin close behind, and he made his way to the bedroom without pause, truly feeling as though some battle had been fought and won in his own home.  He climbed onto the bed and fell face-first across it, his hands only halfway healed as he gave up.  Draugluin leapt up beside him, laying his head on Mairon’s back and whining.  The wolf scooted closer, almost climbing over him, his tail wagging in thuds against the blankets.  Mairon didn’t push him away.

“So dramatic.”

The voice came from the doorway, and Mairon moved his head just enough to see Melkor leaning against the doorframe, smirking.  Mairon frowned and looked away again.  “I hate you.”

Melkor came into the room and shoved at Draugluin, attempting to make space for himself, but the wolf refused to move and Mairon refused to assist.  Draugluin, in a show of absolute stubbornness, flung both front legs over Mairon’s back and shimmied forward to lower his entire chest down over the Maia, so the two of them together were taking up almost the entire bed.  Melkor sighed.

He shoved some pillows away and lowered himself down on his side there against the headboard, as that was all the space allowed.  “Did you kill my cat?” he asked bluntly.

Mairon just reached out from under the heavy blanket of wolf and hit him hard in the shoulder, and then again harder when he realized Melkor was grinning.  “I did not _kill_ that demon of an animal,” he muttered.  

Melkor caught his fist when it came out for a third blow.  “I’m surprised,” he said seriously.  “I am also rather surprised it took you this long to _do something_ about her.”

“Do somethi- ”  Mairon cut the words off abruptly and he pushed himself up with his forearms.  Draugluin slid down his back, his tail wagging again and his tongue lolling out.  “Melkor, was this - was this whole thing a joke?” he asked, eyes narrowing with brewing anger.  “Think about your answer, I warn you now.”

“It wasn’t a joke!” Melkor replied defensively.  He tried to roll to his back before remembering the wooden headboard was in his way, and righted himself again to rest his head in his hand, gazing down at Mairon’s vexed expression.  He started to reach out to touch Mairon’s face with his free hand, but Mairon pulled away before he could and plopped back down to the bed.  Draugluin immediately took the initiative to climb over him again, and Mairon closed his eyes in defeat.

The defeat, however, was more from Melkor’s actions than Draugluin’s, and he heard Melkor make an aggrieved noise beside him.

“It wasn’t a joke,” he said again, his tone more pleading now.  “Truly.  I was about to run out to help you just now when she was attacking Draugluin, but you seemed to have it under control.  I assumed you wouldn’t need me.”

“And you also assumed I killed her?” Mairon sniped back grumpily.  “How highly you must think of me, that I would murder your Fluffer out of spite because I did not like her.”

This time Melkor succeeded in reaching out, and his hand landed on the back of Mairon’s head, threading through his loose hair.  “Don’t be ridiculous, I am quite confident you did not kill the cat.  It is only elves who should be wary of your hatred.”

Mairon swatted blindly at him, and Melkor easily evaded the hit before it could land.  Mairon’s arm flopped back down to the blankets, Melkor’s hand still moving soothingly against his scalp.  Draugluin lowered his head down to rest against Mairon’s shoulder, and he sighed, finally feeling better after what had felt like a week of fluff-and-blood chaos.  

“So,” Melkor said after a moment of silence.  “What _did_ you do with the cat?”

“I sent her to your brother.”  



End file.
